


I've been waiting (for you to slip back in bed)

by AvengedInk



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 01:10:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9524876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvengedInk/pseuds/AvengedInk
Summary: “Alexandria Woods is not exempt from any of the rules on my pitch. If she’s not here in five minutes, Slytherin forfeits the match.” The Slytherins’ protests fell on deaf ears as Indra swiveled to march off the pitch, but a voice full of authority stopped her.“That won’t be necessary, Professor.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, all!  
> There are a couple time jumps in this one, sorry if that's confusing at all with the progression of the chapter. Without further ado...

Vibrant green eyes flashed in alarm, their depths reflected by the water pooling beneath her irises. The girl's face was round with youth but her cheekbones and jawline were well defined, her skin olive-toned and her hair a mess of dark brown curls that spilled over her shoulders at their leisure. The soft hair at her temples was pulled back in intricate braids, giving the illusion that the rest wasn't tangled and dripping from the storm raging outside. She was small, really small, a couple inches shorter than Clarke, and despite the tears rolling off her long eyelashes and down her cheeks, she stood steady. She bit her lip hard, like she was trying to keep it from quivering, her hands balled into tight little fists at her sides. The girl with the green eyes lifted her chin defiantly and eyed Clarke with measured fear and distrust. 

The sound of a door slamming startled them both, and Clarke looked up to the familiar form of Jake Griffin, much resembling a drowned rat as he brushed his sopping hair out of his eyes and shrugged off his coat. His warm gaze met hers and he smiled his smile that stretched the skin around his eyes and made Clarke feel like everything was going to be okay. He kicked off his muddied boots and approached the two girls carefully, kneeling down to eye level. 

"Lexa," he spoke in a soft tone, addressing the other girl. "I know today has been really scary but I'd like it if you stayed here for awhile. Is that alright?" 

The brunette shifted uncomfortably but Clarke could see some of the tension leave her shoulders at Jake's welcoming expression. She nodded silently in affirmation, her eyes more questioning now than fearful as she turned back to Clarke. She said nothing, though, just trudged up the stairs after Jake, fingers clutching the thin straps of her yellow backpack, damp socks leaving prints on the hardwood floor. Clarke stared at the front door straining on its hinges as the wind whined and howled from the other side and the rain attacked the roof with heavy blows. The entire foundation seemed to shake, thunder rolling in the distance. Clarke wondered for a moment at her mother, caught up at St. Mungo’s and unable to leave in the storm, before her thoughts returned to the stranger.

Lexa, Clarke reminded herself, and the memory of wide green eyes returned unbidden. Clarke and her dad went camping every summer at Shoecraft Lake, and Clarke decided that Lexa's eyes were like the trees off the shoreline. Not the shade of dull green when you looked directly at them, but expansive and shimmering like their reflection in the water; soft ripples disrupting the symmetry, sunlight reflecting on the forest hues and dancing across the waves like little flecks of gold. The trees stood tall and proud, refusing to bend or break, much like Lexa herself.

Late that night, Jake pulled the covers over Clarke and up to her chin, leaving them loose everywhere else because he knew his daughter kicked in her sleep.

"Why is Lexa here?" Clarke asked quietly, eyes drooping in exhaustion but filled with curiosity nonetheless. Jake's answer came with a sad smile.

"Lexa's parents were in an accident, sweetheart. She's going to be staying with us before we find her a more permanent home," and he sighed deeply and brushed the hair out of Clarke's face.

"Did you know Lexa's parents?" Her voice was very small. 

"Yes, I did. They were good people." He bent down and brushed his lips over her forehead, wordlessly ending the discussion. His face was rough and unshaven, but the blonde found security in the familiar gesture. Clarke had never seen her dad cry, not before and not then, but his eyes held a certain sorrow and his shoulders were hunched forward, bones much too heavy under the weight of his grief. 

"I'm really sorry, dad," she said in her most sincere voice, because Clarke had never met Lexa's parents, but her heart still sank to the bottom of her rib cage, her arms yearning, for the first time, to wrap themselves around Lexa's thin frame and hold her until the pain was gone. 

~ 

Red and gold banners waved spastically from the stands, festooned with roaring lions and words of encouragement as the entire pitch seemed to rumble in anticipation. The sun shone blindingly from its perch in the sky and warmed her face, just enough so she could ignore the crisp autumn air stinging her cheeks.

Octavia stood proudly to her left, chest puffed out and arm raised high to the crowd. Her dark, almost raven hair was swept in a tight braid that must’ve hurt and her nose was slightly pink from the cold, but there was pure, unadulterated joy on her face. Clarke rolled her eyes as her friend blew a kiss to the opposite end of the pitch where her boyfriend Lincoln stood. He winked back at her, the dark skin around his eyes obscured by black paint, a tradition the Slytherin team had adopted several years back.

There was a loud holler behind her before Jasper rushed ahead, knees bent and arms spread as he lunged across the grass, and Clarke reminisced about her first Quidditch game, four entire years ago, and her narrow victory against Ravenclaw. That had wiped the smug smile off Raven’s face and forged her reputation as the most ruthless chaser in the game. She watched fondly as Jasper’s antics took him to the far side of the pitch where he ignored the Slytherin’s taunts.

A stocky woman with dark skin and scars around her eyes set foot on the pitch, her strides long and forceful, and almost immediately the intimidating sneers dropped off the Slytherins’ faces. Professor Indra refereed most of their matches, and her sharp eyes never missed a thing.

“Linkon,” she said, heavily accented as she pierced him with her stern gaze. “I count only six on your side of the pitch.”

For his part, Lincoln didn’t appear frightened by Indra’s harsh tone, and he met her eyes calmly, undaunted. Clarke wondered, not for the first time, why the hat hadn’t sorted him into Gryffindor.

“Heda should be here any moment.”

Clarke bit her lip at his use of the title. She’d never heard a Slytherin refer to their captain as anything but heda or commander, the former being a Trigedasleng term for the latter. Trigedasleng was a language that had originated in the pureblood families who lived in Polis, and a large majority of the Slytherin house was made up of them. This included Hogwarts’ alumni like Indra, which Clarke viewed as an unfair advantage – even if Indra seemed to regard them all with equal contempt.

Octavia was quick at Indra’s side, crimson robed and huffing in indignation. “I don’t see why Woods has the luxury of being late. They should be disqualified!” Her face was already red with anger and she rocked forward on her heels, meeting Lincoln’s stoic expression with fire in her eyes. Cage Wallace, a Slytherin beater whose nastiness made up for his lack of muscle, curled his lip and retorted, “Your keeper hasn’t been disqualified, and he thinks he can fly without a broomstick!” Clarke glared at him as Jasper rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.

Before Octavia had the chance to retaliate, Indra fixed the group with a dark scowl. “Shof Op! All of you!”

Wallace reluctantly lowered his club.

“Alexandria Woods is not exempt from any of the rules on my pitch. If she’s not here in five minutes, Slytherin forfeits the match.” The Slytherins’ protests fell on deaf ears as Indra swiveled to march off the pitch, but a voice full of authority stopped her.

“That won’t be necessary, Professor.”

Lexa Woods emerged from the far side of the stands, black leather guards on her arms and shins, deep green robes swishing at her feet as she came to a halt opposite Octavia. Her face, much like her teammates’, was decked in immaculate war paint, but it looked more like a mask on Lexa; she was primed for battle. Her wild curls were tamed in their usual braids and the silver fastenings of her robes glinted in the sunlight. Her eyes were all steel, and damn, did she live up to her title.

Only now did the Slytherin side of the crowd make their stand, stomping in unison and chanting, “Heda, Heda, Heda.” It took them a minute to quiet, even after Indra raised her hand in an obvious gesture for silence. Clarke had to appreciate their loyalty.

“I apologize for my tardiness, ma’am, I had a personal issue come up. It is not a reflection of the Slytherin team and it will not happen again.”  
Lexa spoke evenly, as if practiced, her voice slightly softer and more feminine than her appearance gave the impression of. Indra nodded stiffly.

“See that it does not. Now, let us get this match underway.”

Octavia looked as if she might argue, but Indra’s eyes scrutinized the pitch, as if daring anyone to speak a word. Octavia was fierce, but she knew when to pick her battles. The small brunette hurried back to Clarke and mounted her broom, mouth ticking up in a half-smile as they rose into the air. Jasper took his place behind their ranks, readily defending their goal, and Octavia’s eyes were already searching the ground below for any sign of the golden snitch.

Clarke surged forward in one practiced motion and gripped her broom handle lightly with her left hand, her right already anticipating the quaffle. Lincoln hovered across from her, signature smirk on his angular face.

At Indra’s whistle, the quaffle was thrown and the players exploded into motion, Clarke triumphantly sweeping past Lincoln with the scoring ball tucked safely under her arm.

“And there’s Griffin, already with the quaffle! Some drama on the pitch before the whistle, but after last year’s battle for the Cup, I would expect nothing less!”

Raven Reyes’ voice sounded over the pitch, full of enthusiasm. The Ravenclaw prodigy had always had a love for the game, but a Quidditch accident in her fifth year paralyzed her right leg, and Headmaster Jaha let her take over as announcer. Raven had been the only student since Harry Potter to play Quidditch as a first year.

The wind whipped around Clarke as she cut to the left to avoid a bludger – almost pausing to curse Wallace – and she neared the Slytherin goalpost, tuning out the stadium noise. It was just her and the goal.

Well, and Lexa.

The Slytherin keeper dropped a couple feet in the air, locking eyes with Clarke, who suddenly felt like prey despite the fact that she was on Lexa’s turf. And she could claim that Lexa’s gaze was cold and full of malice, like the rumors said, but that would be a lie. The chaser saw determination, confidence, and maybe a little bit of something else she couldn’t place.

Clarke wasn’t going to wait around for Wallace to pull his head out of his ass and knock her off her broom, so she pulled forward and to the right, launching the quaffle at an angle.

She held her breath.

Lexa roughly swerved up, hand outreached, and gripped the ball with all the reflexes of a snake poised to strike. Clarke exhaled in disappointment as the commander effortlessly passed the quaffle to Lincoln, who was already barreling down the pitch toward Jasper.

The match went back and forth, and there were a couple close calls with bludgers, one with Wallace’s outstretched club that Indra fouled him for. Clarke was tailing a Slytherin chaser, and she cringed when Raven called her “Princess” again over the loudspeaker.

The score was 60-40, Slytherin in favor, mostly because Lexa kept saving goals in outlandish manners, and Clarke would be rolling her eyes if she wasn’t so frustrated.

Her seventh year hadn’t been going as expected. It started when Bellamy left for the Ministry of Magic to become an Auror, leaving Octavia with his blessing to take up the helm as Quidditch captain, and Clarke couldn’t help feeling a little betrayed. The younger Blake sibling was undoubtedly a talented seeker, but Clarke was being scouted professionally. She’d been arguing with her mother all summer because Abby didn’t consider Quidditch a “practical” career, and she thought maybe being captain would make it worthwhile.

The icing on the cake was right before term. Wells Jaha’s snow-white owl had brought a letter embellished with the Jaha seal – Wells’ father was the headmaster. Inside had been a picture of Wells, smiling broadly and dressed to the nines in his Hufflepuff robes, the shiny head boy badge pinned to his chest.

Clarke had received her Hogwarts letter the day before with that year’s prefect badge sealed within, and hoped maybe head girl would be waiting for her at the school, but she knew then. Alexandria Woods had been gunning hard for head girl, and Alexandria Woods always gets what she wants.

The Gryffindor chaser groaned as Lincoln knocked in another ten points, right through Jasper’s hands, but then the stands erupted in cheers and Raven’s voice shouted excitedly from above.

“BLAKE CAUGHT THE SNITCH! RIGHT OUT FROM UNDER BLACK’S NOSE, OCTAVIA BLAKE CAUGHT THE SNITCH! FUCKIN’ GET IT, O!” Clarke laughed as she saw a tall blonde girl in blue robes slap Raven upside the head and wrestle her away from the announcer’s stand.

She dismounted as quickly as she could to join the dogpile of crimson robes on top of Octavia, the bitterness that’d been swelling in her chest now deflated. She spotted Ontari Black storming off the pitch out of the corner of her eye, Cage Wallace following close behind.

“FIRST MATCH OF THE SEASON IS OURS! WE’RE BACK, BITCHES!” Octavia’s voice carried from the bottom of the pile. Clarke straightened, grinning, as Lexa approached, sticking her hand out in a sportsmanlike gesture. She moved to grip Clarke’s forearm as she’d done with Bellamy countless times.

“Good game, Griffin,” she said gruffly, though she smiled good-naturedly. Lexa’s hand was warm against Clarke’s skin. Her eyes were like beacons of light, outlined by the smudged black paint, and Clarke was drawn like a moth to the flame.

“Uh,” she stammered, breathless for a moment. “You know I’m not captain, right?” Lexa laughed, and Clarke’s heart stopped at the sound.

“Maybe not in name.”

And that was the closest thing she would get to a compliment from Lexa Woods. A bright banner with the word ‘GRIFFIN’ in gold caught Clarke’s eye and bolstered her confidence.

“Well I suppose I can sleep easy now, knowing the commander sees me as her equal,” she smirked, earning her a raised eyebrow. All at once Lexa was in her space, so close she could feel the brunette’s breath on her cheek as she spoke.

“Nobody is my equal on this pitch, and you would do well to remember that, Clarke.” The brunette’s voice clicked on the ‘k’ and delicious shivers danced up Clarke’s back.

Octavia’s hand was suddenly on her shoulder protectively, the seeker haughty, her chin tilted up in victory. “What was the score, Woods? 190 to 70? Watch out, the Cup is ours this year,” and with an exaggerated wink, the younger Blake was dragging her off to the locker rooms.

“You know your stern face is adorable, right?” Clarke called over her shoulder, glancing back just long enough to see Lexa’s face flush.

She felt green eyes on the back of her head until she was inside.

~ 

The hulking man had a beard that laid across his chest like a pillow and hands like frying pans, scarred and calloused. His robes were the blackest black that Clarke had ever seen, accented by a rich emerald tunic underneath, and shining boots that planted him firmly to the doorstep. He unfroze, suddenly, startling the small girl, but it was only to kneel to her height in a way that reminded her of Jake. 

“Do you know a person by the name of Jake Griffin?” The stranger asked, his mouth curling as he gently smiled, encouraging trust. 

Clarke nodded, eyes big and blue and curious. 

The man’s chocolate gaze flicked above her head, and then Jake’s steady hand was on the back of her shoulder as he reached over her to shake the stranger’s. 

“Gustus Woods,” the man introduced, stretching to his full frame and unintentionally dwarfing her father. His hair was contained in a thick tie at the back of his head, but Clarke recognized the chestnut locks that so resembled her newest friend’s. 

“Jake Griffin,” her father spoke warmly, “but I suppose you already know that.” He ushered her to the side as Gustus breached the threshold, his footsteps surprisingly soft for a man of his stature. Behind him, the torrential rain had finally slowed to a delicate mist after a week of its onslaught on Arkadia, and shy beams of sunlight were breaking through the cloud cover. The door shut.  

Clarke suddenly turned and tiptoed around the men and to the staircase, old enough to know that it was rude to leave without excuse but young enough to get away with it. She bounded anxiously up the stairs and around the corner to her bedroom, her toes meeting the plush of the carpet. 

A tiny lump under the covers was the only indication of a presence in the room. 

“Lexa,” she whispered, her voice urgent as she prodded the sleeping girl between the ribs. “Lexa, wake up.” 

Something akin to regret welled inside of her as the girl’s verdant eyes blinked into consciousness, as this was one of the few times the blonde had seen them closed peacefully. Lexa fixed her with an inquisitive stare, her nimble fingers worrying the edge of the blankets. 

“A man named Gustus Woods is with dad, and he’s big and scary and his hands are huge but his hair is the same color as yours even though his eyes are brown,” Clarke rambled, tucking a strand of wild hair behind Lexa’s perfectly shaped ear, biting her lip with nervous energy.

The waking tension in the brunette’s body that had set her back rigid and her jaw tensed since the day of the accident disappeared. A wave of relief seemed to wash over her, though her delicate features relaxed into a tiredness that was absent before. “Uncle Gus,” she whispered, her voice almost inaudible. 

Two blonde eyebrows furrowed in concern. 

There was a creak as the door was swept open, a looming figure crouching inside of the frame, carefully placed feet shuffling until they rested next to Clarke’s. 

All at once, Lexa was out of the covers and in Gustus’ large embrace, his arms cocooning her little body, his lips whispering comforts into her hair. Clarke observed wide-eyed as her friend was carried from the room and down the stairs, out to the doorstep after a hurried “thank you, so much,” was given to Jake. A sharp pop resonated as the man with the flowing beard apparated away to some unknown place. Clarke wouldn’t see Lexa again until the Sorting.


	2. Chapter 2

The fine clasp at her clavicle came undone and at once her cloak cascaded down her back, pooling at her feet, the sound of it echoing through the empty dorm. It was a literal weight off her shoulders. Her hair, the soft tendrils at the nape of her neck, was tangled and wind whipped and the braids she’d weaved with practiced fingers tore painfully at her scalp. The skin around her eyes ached sharply, tender from when she’d scrubbed the dark paint away, watched it intermix with water and disappear down the drain. An air of defeat permeated the dungeon, supernaturally quiet, entering her body without permission and sitting oppressively on her lungs.

Lexa’s lost before. It’s not such a common occurrence that it’s familiar, but the feeling isn’t entirely foreign, either, and she’s developed a few foolproof methods of recovery. Those of which may or may not include an impromptu visit to the kitchens.

Pulling her immaculate robes about her shoulders and haphazardly fastening her tie, she walked brusquely to the common room, already mapping the way past the Hufflepuff dormitory. She thought regretfully back to fifth year, when Wells Jaha caught her leaving the kitchen corridor, two entire pies stashed - not too conspicuously - under her shirt. Lost in the memory, she didn’t have time to turn before a rough body slammed into her, her nose coming in painful contact with a shoulder, a sharp elbow carving its way under her ribcage. 

“Do you not have working eyes, or are you simply too dense to use them?” she snarled, preparing a verbal lashing for the unfortunate soul before her. 

“I’m here to fetch you for the prefect’s meeting,” her cousin, Anya, snarked, seemingly unharmed from the collision. “Unless you forgot, head girl?” Lexa bit her lip at the reminder, but feigned annoyance. 

“The prefect’s meeting that’s in Flitwick’s room,” Lexa rolled her eyes, “how did you get the password this time?” 

The taller girl’s rich blue tie and accents contrasted with the green embroidery about the dungeon, her prefect’s badge glinting in the artificial light. 

“A magician never reveals her secrets.” 

The pair exited the dungeon, feet moving in sync and echoing threateningly down the hallway. It wasn’t quite curfew, but the sight of the head girl and the Ravenclaw seventh year, identical scowls on their upturned faces, always struck fear into the hearts of younger students. Anya was intimidating simply in her physical form - elegant, but in a sharp way, tall and looming, dark features. The rumor that she could withstand the shrill cries of a mandrake without any form of protection may have helped her cause. 

Rumors followed Lexa, too, though of a different variety. 

“I hear she’s from Polis,” a voice would whisper, none too quiet. Polis was spoken like a dirty word outside the walls of the Slytherin dungeons. Lexa wasn’t sure if the other students were frightened, jealous, or both, but it manifested in a ruthless sort of hatred that chilled her to her bones. 

“So, what? Lincoln Forrester is from Polis, and he’s harmless,” another student, likely a Hufflepuff, would chime in. 

“Northside Polis,” the voice would clarify,  cuttingly, maliciously, and the halls would fall silent. The North side was where the exceedingly wealthy, old-money families resided; the ones who aligned closely with dark magic. Nevermind that Lexa had been raised next door to the Forresters, nevermind that their small subsection of Trikru was the place she felt safest (sans Hogwarts), nevermind that she hasn't returned to Northside since she last saw her parents alive. 

Nevertheless, when Anya turned to reprimand the gossipers, Lexa would always tug her away. The students didn’t have to like her, they just had to respect her. 

They arrived at the meeting not a minute late, Lexa’s robes swishing madly behind her as she entered the classroom. Six pairs of eyes met hers, all reflecting varying degrees of impatience and boredom. When the door clicked shut behind her, they resumed talking amongst themselves. Anya leaned over to whisper in her ear. 

“You’re pairing me with Reyes tonight, commander.” 

Lexa’s gaze raked over the group, noting that Lincoln was already joined at the hip with Octavia, who was chatting animatedly to Raven Reyes, probably about that day’s match. Lexa had spoken maybe a handful of words to the two Hufflepuffs, Monty Green and Nathan Miller. They were both relatively quiet, but well-liked around the castle. That left only one other person in attendance. 

“But you’re always my partner,” Lexa whined, sending a pleading look to her cousin. She was still licking her metaphorical wounds from her loss to Gryffindor, and not in the mood to be teased or otherwise flustered. Anya poked her between the ribs. 

“We both know that you forgot about this meeting until five minutes ago,” she said, raising an eyebrow. At Lexa’s sigh, she turned on heel and marched triumphantly to Raven’s side. Lexa cleared her throat a bit awkwardly, and again, she had the prefects’ attention.  

“Blake and Forrester, Green and Miller - take the east wing. Reyes and Woods,” she glared pointedly at Anya, “can join Griffin and I in the west wing.” Anya returned her glare with a smirk, and grabbed Raven by the hand. Lexa noticed a hint of red dusting the latter’s cheeks as she was pulled to the exit. 

“Don’t spend too much time in the kitchens,” Anya threw over her shoulder as the others dispersed. Suddenly, the room was empty, the sounds of chatter fading. Lexa was startled by a gentle hand on her arm. 

“The kitchens, then?” Clarke inquired, a glint of mischief in her eyes. The Gryffindor’s blonde hair was thrown up in a messy bun, one strand falling by her temple, another curling by her ear, leaving Lexa’s fingers itching to brush it back. Her tie was a little crooked to the left, like it always was. There was a streak of gold glitter on one cheek that, Lexa suspected, was left over from post-game festivities. 

Lexa bit her lip, ignoring the flush that was creeping up her neck. “The kitchens,” she affirmed. “Unless you have a problem with that?” 

“Don’t think I didn’t hear about your great pie pillaging fiasco back in fifth year,” the blonde laughed. This time, Lexa knew her face was red. “I, too, enjoy my fair share of pie. But I know how to get away with it,” Clarke winked, breezing past the taller girl. Lexa was momentarily asphyxiated by her perfume - was that vanilla? Jasmine? - before hurrying to catch up. 

“You don’t get away with it!” Lexa cried indignantly. “You’re best friends with Wells Jaha! Which, while we are on the topic, is a complete abuse of power on his part.” As the two girls fell in step down the corridor, Clarke scoffed, though her voice was considerably more hushed as she made her next remark. 

“As if what we’re doing right now isn’t.” 

They fell silent, the only sounds coming from the soles of their shoes against the tile, and the resting noises of the castle as it settled into the night. It was dark outside, now, though a near-full moon spilled light in through the slanted windows. Their shadows morphed and elongated and mirrored their movements. Lexa took the time to study Clarke, the blonde’s nose pointed studiously forward, the errant strands of hair obscuring her eyes. The chaser’s form was relaxed, juxtaposing the head girl’s rigid back and careful steps. She was slightly shorter, though not smaller by any means. The brunette quietly admired the swell of her chest, her waist fanning into wide hips and the way her curves flowed into one another. Her face was soft and pale, a beauty mark right above her lips, which were quirked into an almost-frown in seriousness. The light refracted off Clark’s cheek, and Lexa once again made note of the streak of glitter. 

“You have something,” the keeper said, and Clarke captured her in her blue-grey gaze. Lexa made a gesture at the spot, and the Gryffindor scrubbed at her skin in vain. Lexa’s hand was cupping Clarke’s face before she could think too much about it. 

“There,” she whispered, her thumb brushing the glitter away. 

She looked away, barely registering the “thanks,” that the other girl murmured before resuming her pace down the corridor. She couldn’t let herself become too entranced by the moonlight dancing in Clarke’s eyes. She hadn’t been that close to the blonde in over a decade, but was captivated all the same. 

The pair rounded a corner and an unknown figure emerged - Lexa had her second collision of the day, flinging herself out of the path of destruction and right into Clarke. For a moment, it seemed that the chaser would catch her, arms secured around Lexa’s slender waist as tight as if she were holding a game-winning quaffle. They teetered precariously, before falling to the ground, Lexa sprawled over Clarke, already feeling the beginnings of a full-body flush as she felt the blonde’s fingers dig into her hips. Their noses were nearly touching, and Lexa was in danger of getting caught up in Clarke’s eyes again, before a voice was loudly cleared from above them. 

“Miss Woods? Miss Griffin?” A very disgruntled, stout woman - the cause of Lexa’s perpetual embarrassment - scowled through dirty spectacles. 

“Professor Sprout!” 

Lexa sprang to her feet and pulled Clarke to hers. The Herbology professor was, quite ironically, almost badger-like in her anger. She puffed out her chest, the apples of her cheeks a bright red, her dark gaze flitting between the two girls. 

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” She scolded. 

“We have night patrol, professor,” Clarke explained, flashing her prefect’s badge, along with an equally-dazzling smile. The middle-aged woman huffed in annoyance, straightening her clothes and adjusting her spectacles on her nose. 

“Not headed to the kitchens, are you?” She eyed them with distrust. Lexa kept her silence, not trusting herself to speak. The brunette had never been in the professor’s good graces - not when the infamous Woods’ touch-of-death killed her mimbulus mimbletonia, and not after she caught wind of Anya’s supposed immunity to mandrakes. 

Clarke shook her head in response. “Wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am,” she said, her voice dripping with false sincerity. The professor let out one last frustrated huff before marching the opposite way. 

Lexa breathed a sigh full of relief. 

“I’m sorry for, uh,” she scratched the back of her neck, “falling on you?” 

“Tackling me. That was definitely more of a tackle,” Clarke chuckled. “Though I wouldn’t say I minded being under you.” 

Before the keeper could choke out something resembling a reply, the blonde’s lips were on hers; it was a chaste, close-mouthed kiss, but the pressure was carefully applied. A statement. It was soft and quick and perfect. Clarke pulled away and tilted her head, a lock of hair falling across her face, eyes catching the moonlight.  

The same glint of mischief returned, sparkling, effervescent. This time, Lexa let herself stare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this needed closure. Sorry it's so short. (Also, this is set before Sprout retired). 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

“You totally fucked.” 

“Raven,” she sighed, exasperated. “I kissed her. Just a kiss, a couple seconds at most. That’s all.” 

Her friend’s perfectly manicured eyebrow raised skeptically as the latina folded her arms across her chest, staring down Clarke until she had to look away. “Then why was Woods all blush-y and tongue-tied when I asked her at breakfast?” 

“You did what? Raven, what exactly did you say to her?” 

The shorter girl shrugged. “I asked her how you were in bed,” she stated plainly. 

Clarke’s head fell into her hands as she collapsed on her four-poster, groaning loudly. Sure, she and Lexa may have snagged a bottle of wine from the kitchens the previous night, and they also may have finished it, but she would definitely remember taking the other girl to bed. Definitely. 

Most likely. 

Her calloused fingers dug into her temples as she struggled to pluck the memories from her brain. “I think she just walked me back here,” she said, eyes squinted in frustration.

“You think?” Raven asked, face alight with amusement. 

“Well if you’re so enlightened, then what did Lexa say this morning?” Clarke snapped. The Ravenclaw threw up her hands, moving to sit beside the blonde. 

“She ran away before I could get anything out of her! Honestly, the first action you’ve gotten since Finn and you don’t even remember.” Clarke half-heartedly hit her on the shoulder at the reminder. 

“There’s probably not even anything to remember. Maybe I should just ask Lexa.” 

She worried her lip at the thought of seeing the stoic brunette again. Flashes of last night were coming back to her. The comfortable silence after their kiss, a shadow of a smile on Lexa’s face. The warmth of the wine as it washed down her throat. Lexa’s palm in hers as they stumbled out of the kitchens when a stern-faced house elf discovered them in the pantry, Peeves cackling in the distance. Everything after, however - complete blank. 

“How are you gonna do that, Griffin? ‘Hey, green-eyed goddess of my dreams, childhood crush, woman who sparked my sapphic awakening - did we fuck?” 

The blonde shifted to glare at her friend. “I don’t force my way into your room and interrogate you about your sex life,” she said pointedly. Raven’s cheeks tinted just a shade darker, but she was altogether unaffected. 

“Whatever. Go find your broody lover then. But if anything happens, I’ll find out!”

~

The library was remarkably empty for a weekday afternoon, the midday sun pouring in through the windows, illuminating the particles of dust floating in the air. Admittedly, it wasn’t Clarke’s favorite place in the world. It was always a bit too stuffy, and entirely too quiet. And, honestly, all the interesting reads were relegated to the restricted section. Not that Clarke knew that from personal experience, thank you very much.

The unpopulated tables caused a mixture of disappointed and relief to bubble up in Clarke’s stomach, though she hadn’t quite relinquished her search. Her eyes scanned down the rows of bookshelves, catching on the one entitled ‘Wizard politics’. 

She found Lexa’s nose buried in a particularly heavy-looking tome, one with a complicated name Clarke couldn’t be bothered to translate. The chaser stood perfectly still, gaze tracing the sharp line of Lexa’s jaw and the lazy braids she’d woven into her hair that day. She was content to stand there forever. 

“Hello, Clarke,” the brunette said, not looking up from her book. 

“Um, hi,” she replied, startled from her trance. She lowered herself to the floor next to Lexa, far enough so they weren’t touching but close enough to feel a nervous fluttering in her belly. She brought her knees to her chest, arms curling around them, fingers worrying at her sleeve. They sat in silence for several moments before the Slytherin keeper bookmarked the page, her dark green eyes meeting Clarke’s. 

“What can I do for you?” 

Her tone was surprisingly curt, her lips downturned. 

“I guess I wanted to talk about last night,” Clarke said hesitantly. Lexa rolled her eyes, setting the book down harshly to her left and studying her fingernails dismissively. 

“What is there to talk about, Clarke? You kissed me. And then you told everyone we slept together. While we were supposed to be on night patrol. If you wanted to tarnish my reputation - well, people already hate me. However, if you wanted to undermine my authority, congratulations.” 

It was a stunned silence. Clarke opened her mouth, then shut it. Opened it again. Nothing came out. Lexa’s eyes blazed with anger, though Clarke sensed that she was embarrassed as well. The other girl had drawn into herself, her arms crossed and her fists clenched. Before she could muster up a response, Lexa was talking again - quietly, furiously. 

“I know you wanted to be head girl. I admired that about you, you have ambition, that’s a quality we share. I just never thought you would sink so low. Unfortunately for you, Clarke, it is not a position I take lightly. Yesterday was an error in judgement that will not repeat itself,” the keeper’s hands shook at her sides, and she stood abruptly, making to exit. Clarke numbly followed her. 

“Lexa, please, if you would just let me explain-” 

“If you’re worried that I’ll retaliate, don’t. I’m not that petty. I don’t… I won’t do anything.” The brunette’s hard exterior softened, for just a second, as emotions whirled in a myriad of colors in her eyes. They were too fast for Clarke to decipher. 

She tilted her head away, effectively breaking their eye contact. 

“I didn’t tell anyone we slept together,” Clarke said quickly, before Lexa could take another step toward the door. This was quickly turning into a mess that Clarke hadn’t anticipated. Lexa scowled at her disbelievingly, her eyes a tempest of betrayal, the strength of which caused Clarke to wince. 

“No, seriously,” the blonde continued, “Raven was just joking. She doesn’t always know where to draw the line.” The keeper didn’t offer a reply, and Clarke worried at her sleeve again, wondering how to restore their tentative friendship. 

“I don’t exactly remember a lot of last night,” she admitted, blushing lightly, “but what I do remember was a lot of fun. And I didn’t say anything to Raven. Except about the kiss. But, I’m sorry if you didn’t want me to talk about that, I swear it was-” 

Lexa raised a palm in a gesture for silence. She leaned against a bookshelf, a hand across her face, obscuring her expression.

“I just went off on you for absolutely no reason, didn’t I?” She sighed. 

“Maybe a little bit,” the Gryffindor shrugged, a small, conciliatory smile upon her lips. Lexa lowered her hand and cast her an apologetic look. “Understatement of the year,” she muttered darkly. 

“What can I do to make it up to you, Clarke?” 

It was a genuine question, and the knot of tension in Clarke’s chest dissipated. She wasn’t angry, not really, just relieved to have avoided a complete and total disaster. The blonde tapped a finger against her chin in faux contemplation.

“I think you owe me a proper date, commander.” 

~

February 5, 2006 

Dear Clarke,

Thank you for taking care of me. Thank you for making me chicken noodle soup when I was cold and wet. Thank you for letting me sleep in your bed even though it’s a princess bed and I’m not a princess. Thank you for showing me how to slide on the floor in my socks. Thank you for watching the Lion King with me after I had a nightmare, even though the TV isn’t supposed to be on after 8. Thank you for letting me use your shampoo so I could smell like strawberries too. Thank you for hugging me super duper tight when I was really sad. 

Uncle Gus says thank-you letters are good manners, but I would have written you anyway. 

We just finished decorating my new room. It’s not as big as yours, but I like it. Uncle Gus painted it green because he says that being a Slytherin is in the family. I told him Jake was a Gryffindor and he said that’s okay, too. Whatever House I’m in, I hope it’s with you. 

I have a cousin named Anya. She’s taller than me by three and-a-quarter inches and she has blonde hair like yours. She’s very bossy but Uncle Gus says she’ll grow out of it, and that we’ll be best friends. I told him that you were already my best friend, but she can be the backup. 

Hopefully I can visit soon. Say hi to Abby and Jake. 

Love,   
Lexa

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sorta short but I haven't updated in forever. Hope you enjoyed!


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